The Institute
by Gandalf's Beard
Summary: Massively AU! Catgirl!Hermione, Metamorphmagus!Genderfluid!Harry(et). A horrible accident leaves 10 (almost 11) year old Hermione Granger in the hands of child-services. Unable to find a foster home, due to her "condition," Hermione is sent to a private institute where she meets a very unusual girl - a girl who is sometimes a boy - which can be a bit confusing at times.
1. The Institute

**Massively AU!**

 **Catgirl!Hermione and Metamorphmagus!Genderfluid!Harry**

This is my most AU fanfic to date! The premise for this short story (told in three parts) is more or less "What if Harry Potter was more 'realistic' and more like the _X-Men_ or Stephen King's _Firestarter_?"

A whole load of stuff is different. It's set in our current time (more or less) instead of the 1990's. There's no Trace - the Ministry and "Hogwarts" don't have god-like magic - no owls - i.e. no letters and no magically detecting where every magical child that's ever been born or has turned 11 is, that sort of thing. Magic isn't done with wands, etc...

Hermione's parents are wizards (it's not stated in the story, but, like Harry, her father is "Pureblood" and her mother is "Muggleborn").

Okay - I'm kind of cheating. Lol! :D

This is more or less an Original Story I wrote, based on the premises above, and I'm giving it a test-run here as a Harry Potter story, because - well - it was inspired in large part by Harry Potter after all. In the Original Story, the "Harry" and "Hermione" characters have different names. ( _Fifty Shades of Grey_ was originally a _Twilight_ fanfic, so there's precedent for this sort of thing).

Anyway, my apologies to anyone who is waiting patiently for me to continue my other stories. I have been working on this and related Original Fiction. Now that I've got this out of my system, and my other Original material is off to a jolly good start, I'll be returning to my other fanfics with new chapters soon(-ish).

* * *

 **The Institute**

The orange glow lit up the night and the neighbouring homes as the house burned, flames and black smoke billowing from the shattered windows of the top floor. Firefighters unspooled hoses from two red fire-engines while the captain spoke to neighbours at a safe distance from the blaze.

"…nicest couple you could think of," said a distressed balding man with glasses. "Got a little girl too… 'bout nine or ten, I think."

"All of the houses on this street have cellars," his teary wife called out, eyeing the flames inside the house through two of the windows on the ground floor as the captain darted back across the road.

"What'd they say? Anyone inside?" one of the firefighters asked the captain.

"Possibly! A husband and wife and a little girl." The captain glanced at the top floor and the bottom. "The top looks like a dead loss, but the structure still looks sound for the moment. If it's not too bad downstairs, see if you can find anyone—check the cellar too. I'll give you five minutes before we turn on the hoses, then get the hell out!"

Three firefighters entered through the front door. The captain and the rest of the crew waited, their faces neutral but tense, not willing to show their anxiety for the safety of their colleagues. When nobody came back out after six minutes and flames blew out a window on the bottom floor the captain cursed and lifted his radio, then looked relieved when it let out a burst of static.

"…couple more minutes," he heard one of his men saying, "…tryin' t'get into the cellar…heard someone yellin' for help…"

The captain ground his teeth, ignoring the sound of sirens as an ambulance and two police cars arrived on the scene. He left it to one of the crew to explain the situation to the new arrivals. Two minutes—three minutes—four minutes—the roof began to sag on the right side of the house and just as he was about to call his men back, one after the other they emerged from the front door, one of them carrying a bundle which had to be the little girl.

"Get those hoses on now!" the captain barked.

Powerful jets of water sprayed from the nozzles as if shot from a cannon as one of the firefighters carried the girl towards the paramedics who were rushing to meet him with a gurney.

"Hey, Cap, you gotta check this out," the sooty fireman shouted. "You're not gonna believe this."

The captain was as shocked as the paramedics when the fireman handed the sobbing girl to them, her bushy tail and fuzzy cat-shaped ears twitching.

 **~o0o~**

Two glum looking figures—one taller and one shorter—stood on the pavement outside the granite walls of the Bowland Institute, peering up at the sign. A flurry of reddening maple leaves caught in a gust of wind blew over the wall and swirled around the pair.

"I don't like it! I don't want to live here! I want my mum!"

'I'm sorry love," the young social worker with a dark brown bob blinked back her tears; she hated this part of her job. "You know your mum and dad are gone—and given your, erm… condition…"

 _"It's not a condition!"_ the girl with the bushy cat tail and furry cat ears shouted. "I keep _telling_ everyone—my mum and dad were Wizards, and I am too! I'm just stuck like this because my mum could turn into a cat and I got some of the cat genes but not all of them."

"I know, sweetie," said the social worker, "I know. But most people don't believe in magic."

"You do though," said the girl, starting to cry. "Why can't I stay with you?"

"If I could, I'd let you, but it's against the rules."

"The rules are horrible! I hate the rules!"

"Me too, love," said the social worker, and she meant it. "Me too! But they'll look after you properly here—they're used to children who are a bit different."

The girl's bushy tail flicked back and forth, and her lower lip quivered as tears trickled down her cheeks. She looked so forlorn; something broke inside the social worker's chest.

"Look, Hermione," she said quietly as she crouched down behind her vehicle, out of sight of the security cameras, and took the young catgirl's hands in her own, "I'm not supposed t'do this, and I could get into loads of trouble, but—you've got a photographic memory, right?"

The catgirl nodded, her messy golden-brown ringlets bouncing.

"Then remember this number," the social worker reached into her handbag and retrieved one of her cards and a pen, then quickly jotted down her phone number on the back and showed both sides of the card to Hermione. "Right, got that then?"

Hermione nodded again.

"Good! That's my home number on the back, and my work number on the front. If anyone gives you a hard time here or you're ever in trouble, give me a ring, alright—I'll come up 'ere and sort things out."

Hermione suddenly lurched forward and flung her arms around the social worker, giving her a rib-cracking hug.

"Oof!" The social worker returned Hermione's embrace and kissed the top of her curly head.

"Thanks Meg," Hermione sniffled, "I'll miss you! You're the only one who's been nice to me since Mum and Dad died."

Meg wasn't sure what to say. It almost seemed cruel to tell Hermione that she loved her; the most she could manage was to murmur, "You're the best, Hermione—I bet you'll make loads of nice friends here. Now come on, I'd better get you signed in before they come lookin' for us, alright."

"Okay," Hermione sighed. "I guess I'm ready then."

While Meg spoke into the grey intercom outside of the black wrought-iron gates Hermione warily eyed the security cameras. The gates opened with a creak and she gazed at everything dispassionately along the way as Meg led her by the hand up the wooded path to the institute. They emerged from the woods and spied the main building on the other side of verdant lawns, privet hedges, and vibrant flowerbeds—an immense seventeenth century manor house with ivy crawling up its red brick walls.

"Where are all the other children?" asked Hermione, frowning and glancing around as they approached the front door.

"It's about teatime—or maybe classes are in session—I expect they're inside."

"Oh, of course."

A tall, dour looking man with thinning grey hair who looked exactly the way Hermione had always imagined a butler ought to look was waiting for them at the front door. He barely said a word of greeting before leading them down a long corridor. Vast landscape paintings and tall portraits in ornate gilded frames hung from mahogany paneled walls, and a maroon Persian rug ran along the centre of the hall, resting on a spotless marble floor.

The "butler" silently directed Meg and Hermione through the door of an office at the end of the corridor.

"Ah, there they are," beamed a matronly bespectacled woman; her auburn hair was streaked with grey and tied back in a bun. "Thank you, Mr. Fitzpatrick. Do be a dear and send in Christine with some tea please. I'm sure these two must be famished after the long drive."

"Of course, Ma'am!" Mr. Fitzpatrick gave the woman who appeared to be the headmistress of the institute a stiff nod and departed.

"Are you Mrs. Trentworth?" asked Meg.

"Please, sit—make yourselves comfortable. You must be Ms. Baxter… and this must be Hermione Granger. I am indeed Madam Trentworth, the headmistress, and it is my great pleasure to welcome you both to the Bowland Institute."

Hermione took a seat in one of the ornately carved and cushioned mahogany armchairs, her furry ears twitching. She stared at the beaming woman sitting behind the highly polished mahogany desk as if she could see right through her. The tips of Hermione's cat-whiskers quivered and she remained silent.

Meg glanced at Hermione worriedly, then back at Madam Trentworth.

"Hermione's still in a bit of shock, really," she explained, "She only just lost her parents in a horrible fire a couple months ago after all—and things haven't been exactly easy for her since."

"Of course, of course," said Madam Trentworth, giving Hermione a sympathetic look which raised her hackles; it took every ounce of Hermione's will to keep her retractable claws from extending.

Fortunately, Christine—a maid in her mid-twenties with ash-brown hair—arrived in the nick of time pushing a gleaming silver trolley laden with a pot of tea, finger-sandwiches and chocolate covered digestives.

"Thank you, Christine," said the headmistress. "If you would be so kind as to return in half an hour to show Miss Granger to her dormitory."

"Yes Ma'am. Of course, Ma'am."

Hermione relaxed slightly when Christine shot her a much more genuine look of sympathy on her way out. She daintily picked up one of the tiny sandwiches and gave it a nibble. Cucumber—that was alright. Hermione munched the cucumber sandwiches and chocolate covered biscuits without a word, taking sips of tea every so often while Meg made small talk with Madam Trentworth and signed paperwork.

When it was all over, Meg gave Hermione another hug goodbye.

"Bye sweetie! Keep your chin up—it'll all work out eventually. You'll see," she said reassuringly.

Meg's expression spoke volumes. Hermione felt slightly better, knowing that she could really count on her if things _didn't_ work out, and hugged Meg one last time.

"Bye Meg," she whispered in her ear. "I love you."

Meg bit her lip, her eyes glistening wetly as she hurried out of the office. Thankfully, Christine showed up on the dot, the moment Meg was gone. Hermione didn't think she could bear another minute in Madam Trentworth's office.

Her amber eyes took in everything as she followed Christine down the long hall and up two flights of stairs to the second floor. She finally plucked up the nerve to speak.

"Meg told me there were other… _unusual_ children like me here. Is that true?"

"More or less—sort of, Miss," said Christine with an awkward expression.

"It's Hermione," she said, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"Well," said Christine slowly, "there are a few with odd, er… traits or strange abilities—though you're the first I've seen 'oo actually _looks_ a bit more different than usual—not that you look 'orrible or anything like that, mind you," she added quickly, "the opposite really—it's just that you're the first one 'oo's got more'n human parts…"

"That's because I'm probably the only Wizard who ever got stuck in mid-transformation when I was conceived," Hermione sighed.

"Er… okay?" said Christine, who clearly didn't have a clue what Hermione was on about; Hermione kicked herself mentally for mentioning "Wizards" and reminded herself that most Muggles didn't know about them.

"Anyway," Christine went on, "to be perfectly honest there's hardly any unusual kids here—most of the kids who board here are incorrigibles who didn't fit in at home or got the boot from their other schools for one reason or another. … Their parents send them here instead—we take the ones that nobody else will, really, and the institute also contracts with the state to take in orphans who have no real chance of being fostered or adopted because they're like you."

"Oh!"

Christine seemed to recognize her expression.

"There aren't _too_ many horrid kids," she added quickly. "Most are just here for giving teachers or their parents a real hard time."

"How many more are there like me at the moment?" asked Hermione.

"Just two as far as I know—" Christine clammed up suddenly and came to a halt in front of a door painted robin-egg blue, as were all the other doors in the hallway. "Here you go then—Number thirty-two—you'll be sharin' with another girl, not too much older'n' you— 'bout twelve I should think. You're what, nine or ten?"

"Ten—almost eleven." Hermione's forehead crinkled with consternation. There was obviously something that Christine wanted to tell her but was too frightened to say.

"Right! Anyway, 'er name is Abigail" Christine continued. "She's nice enough I suppose… I shouldn't expect she'll give you a hard time about your tail."

Christine gave Hermione one last sympathetic smile then departed, leaving Hermione to settle in on her own.

With nothing to her name but a backpack containing a few clothes provided by Child Services and a few books provided by Meg, Hermione didn't bother to unpack. She glanced at the messy, unmade bed on one side of the dorm-room, taking note of the rumpled frilly nightgown sprawled atop the covers, and the likely used knickers and knee-high socks strewn across the floor beside it.

Then she peered at the other side of the room for a moment before flopping miserably on the unclaimed pristine bed with crisp bedcovers that looked like they had never been used. Hermione angrily flung her backpack at the polished pine dresser at the end of the bed. Part of her hoped the backpack would smash the mirror at the back of the dresser and shatter it into a million little shards of silvered glass. But the rational part of Hermione knew that expressing how broken she felt inside on her first day at the Institute would hardly endear her with the headmistress. There was something dark lurking behind Madam Trentworth's jovial smile and Hermione didn't want to wake it.

Tears leaked from the corners of Hermione's eyes, despite her best effort to control them. She furiously wiped them away with the heel of her palm. She was tired of crying. No amount of crying was going to bring Mum and Dad back to life or bring Meg back to take her away from this gilded prison. But the dam burst, and the next thing Hermione knew she was lying on her front, sobbing into her pillow, her bushy cat tail wagging back and forth.

Hermione barely registered the ringing bell and was still crying when the door opened shortly after. When she felt the side of her bed sag, Hermione halted in mid-sob and spied a girl with flaxen-hair, curly, not unlike her own but tied back into pigtails.

"Hello!" said the girl, peering at her with both concern and great interest.

"H-hello," Hermione returned, "Are—are you Abigail?"

The girl nodded, her curly pigtails bouncing.

"Yes. What's your name?"

"H-Hermione… Hermione Granger," she answered, her stomach tightening when Abigail eyed her flicking cat tail.

"Can I stroke it?"

"What?" Hermione had to admit that she was surprised, despite Christine's assertion.

"Your tail—it's very pretty—can I stroke it?"

"Er… You don't think I'm a freak?"

Abigail turned pink and let out a nervous giggle.

"Well, I'm sort of used to weirdos now, after being here for a year and a half—and I love cats."

"Oh!"

Being thought of as a freak was expected, but Hermione supposed that being a 'weirdo' wasn't quite as bad—especially if Abigail actually liked her cat traits.

"Erm—yes, alright then," said Hermione hesitantly.

"Thank you," Abigail beamed, reaching out with her hand.

Hermione wiped her wet cheeks and felt herself relaxing at the other girl's touch. As Abigail gingerly petted her tail Hermione began to feel at ease enough for Abigail's pleasant scent to register with her keen nose and took an almost instant liking to her. An odd tingling sensation shot through her. It wasn't entirely unlike the feeling she got whenever Mum had stroked her tail to comfort her before, but there was something different about it—she just wasn't sure what.

"Ooh! You purr as well!" Abigail squealed excitedly, "That's soooo cute!"

Hermione felt her cheeks growing warm with embarrassment. She hadn't realized she was purring.

"Erm—if you don't mind me asking," said Hermione, quickly changing the subject, "you don't really seem like you belong here. Christine told me the Institute was sort of like a… like a reform school I guess."

Abigail giggled.

"Oh, that! … Mum sent me here because I hated all of my nannies and tutors. They were all horrid—besides it was so boring being stuck at home all the time and just having boring cousins over to play every so often. … There's a few not so nice children here, and schoolwork is boring, but at least it's a _bit_ more interesting than being at home when I'm not in lessons."

Hermione raised her eyebrows, not quite sure how to respond to that; she couldn't help feeling slightly amused.

"Well, I hope you don't find me too boring," she said when the moment passed. "I like to read and study a lot."

Abigail rolled her hazel eyes. "I can see I've got my work cut out for me then. Don't worry, I'll teach you how to loosen up a bit—give me half a tick to change out of my uniform and I'll show you around."

Hermione averted her eyes while Abigail unabashedly stripped down, chucking her clothes all over the floor and digging into her dresser for clean clothes. Once she had changed into a flowery dress and long white stockings, Abigail grabbed Hermione's hand and marched her around the institute for a grand tour.

"…and down that corridor are the boys' dormitories," Abigail was saying as they hurried past. "There's not too many kids here really—about a hundred I think—and a few of the teachers live down that corridor, but half of them don't live at the institute…"

The classrooms and the study hall were on the next floor down, and on the ground-floor were the dining hall, kitchen, staff-quarters and offices. A number of students—many of them still in uniform—were milling around and chatting, and they stared at her as she passed by. Hermione's stomach knotted, and she returned their looks with a frown, not willing to show them how anxious she felt.

Abigail glanced at her, looking a bit puzzled.

"Aren't you used to it, then?"

"Mum and Dad used some sort of invisibility spell on me which just hid my cat features, so I could go out in public and go to primary school," Hermione explained. "The first time anyone saw me like this was a few weeks ago when—when they…"

"I'm sorry," said Abigail. "I didn't think about that. Maybe I shouldn't have dragged you around—"

"It's alright," Hermione sighed. "It's better to get this out of the way now—they'd all see me tomorrow anyway."

When she followed Abigail outside, it looked more how she had expected it to look on the way in—boys (and a few girls) kicking a football across one of the lawns, and kids lounging on another lawn laughing and listening to small portable stereos, some reading books under trees, others traipsing around the flower beds, and a few younger ones who seemed to be playing hide and seek amongst the hedgerows.

It struck Hermione as odd not to see any kids with eyes and thumbs glued to mobiles until it hit her that they were probably banned at the Institute—it was more or less a reform school for rich kids after all.

"There are tennis courts and basketball courts on the other side of the school, too," said Abigail, "if you're interested in that sort of thing."

Hermione shook her head. "Not really. Sports isn't really my thing."

"Me neither," said Abigail, grinning. "What about swimming? They have a pool here too, but we're only allowed to use it on weekends if we've earned enough points."

"Swimming's alright," said Hermione. "How do you earn points then?"

"Good marks in class," Abigail sighed. "I suppose it's a good thing for me though—I probably wouldn't work as hard in lessons if I didn't like swimming…"

Abigail eyed some of the children with portable stereos longingly.

"I can't manage to earn enough points for my own stereo though," she added, "and access to a telly—forget it—that's _loads_ more points. It's not like I don't try, actually. It's just that schoolwork is so—"

"—Boring?" Hermione suggested, her fuzzy cat ears flicking with amusement.

"Yeah," Abigail sighed again.

"Are you _sure_ it's just because it's boring?" asked Hermione, biting her lip and peering at Abigail pensively.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"Well," said Hermione slowly, "maybe you just have trouble concentrating for other reasons."

"You mean like ADHD?"

Hermione nodded.

"Mum had me checked after I shouted at my last tutor and scared her away," said Abigail, scowling. "But the doctors said there was nothing wrong with me. Mum made me see a load of therapists too, and then someone said I was just a delinquent and told her about this place."

"Oh." Hermione's whiskers quivered as she continued to eye Abigail.

"What are you thinking?" asked Abigail, catching Hermione's expression.

" _I_ don't think you're a delinquent," said Hermione. "And I can usually tell when there's something off about people— _a…achoo_ ," she sneezed, the smell of tobacco stinging her sensitive nostrils.

Abigail pulled up short and stiffened, looking past Hermione.

"Come on," she muttered, taking Hermione's arm, "let's go the other way before—"

"Bugger me!" a boy behind Hermione exclaimed loudly, and a cloud of tobacco smoke wafted by. "What the hell is that?"

"Some sorta mutant freak," another boy sniggered. "But this one looks even more like an X-Men than the other two freaks—"

"She looks more like a Doctor Who reject, if you ask me," a girl giggled.

"Shut up!" yelled Abigail as Hermione spun around, her bushy tail wagging. "Don't be so mean!"

The two older boys sharing a cigarette chortled at Abigail, and the older girl looked down her nose at Hermione.

"Why?" said the taller boy with dashing, dark-brown hair, dropping the cigarette end and grinding it into the graveled path with the bottom of his trainer. "Is it your pet then, Abbie?"

Hermione gulped, her heart thumping hard against the wall of her chest, wishing for the hundredth time that she knew the spell that Mum and Dad had used to make her tail, ears, and whiskers invisible. She tried to back up as the shorter, stockier boy with sandy hair drew closer and grinned, but the prickly hedge blocked her path.

"No—don't— _please_ ," she moaned as he grabbed her tail and yanked it painfully.

"Leave her alone, Edgar!" shouted Abigail, punching him in the ribs.

"That tickled," he laughed, tugging Hermione's tail again and making her squeak. "Who's gonna make me, pipsqueak? You?"

"No—me!"

Hermione was startled to see another girl emerge from the other side of the hedge—a girl with untidy long black hair who looked no older than herself. The girl glowered at the boy named Edgar, her fists balled.

Edgar released Hermione's tail, a sneer curling his lip, and lunged at the black-haired girl who held her ground, arms up and ready to strike him.

"Leave it," snapped the taller boy, grabbing his friend's arm before he could punch her. "Don't be stupid."

"You should listen to Terrence, Edgar," said the black-haired girl coolly, "or I'll give you another black eye to match the last one I gave you."

"Piss off, Harry," snarled Edgar. "I know where you sleep."

The black-haired girl snorted and raised her eyebrows, giving Edgar a dangerous look.

"No need to get your knickers in a twist, Harry," said the boy named Terrence. "Just having a bit of a laugh."

Terrence dragged Edgar away and nodded curtly at the girl who had been smoking with them.

"Come on Susan, let's go," he said; then the three older students turned the corner at the end of the hedgerow and were gone.

Hermione let out a sigh of relief, but her heart was still racing. She was embarrassed to find that she was trembling.

"Thanks Harry," said Abigail. "Sorry—I mean Harriet," she added quickly.

"It's alright, Abigail," Harriet's voice softened, "It's nice of you to try to remember, but it doesn't really matter—nobody else bothers to call me Harriet when I'm being a girl. I'm not even supposed t'be…"

"So, you alright then?" she asked suddenly, changing the subject and looking right at Hermione.

Hermione's forehead crinkled in bewilderment and she nodded, surprised as the girl's almost impossibly iridescent eyes shifted from glacier blue to bright green when her head turned and the light struck them from another angle.

"Y-yes, thank you! Er… Harriet? I'm Hermione—Hermione Granger."

"Yeah," Harriet sighed, having clearly picked up on Hermione's unspoken query, "Harry's a boy's name, but I prefer Harriet when I'm being a girl."

"Wait—so you're _not_ a girl then?"

"I am right now—I was born a guy, but I can change into a girl whenever I feel like it. … I can make myself look like other people too if I really try—I dunno how, really—"

"Oh!" gasped Hermione, feeling a thrill of excitement shoot up her spine. "You're one of the other two Wizards here then."

"Huh?" Harriet glanced at Abigail who shrugged in return.

"You're a Wizard," said Hermione, "I'm one too. Didn't you know you were one? Didn't your parents ever tell you?"

"Erm…" Harriet's features flickered, and her cheeks turned pink.

Hermione clapped her hand over her mouth, her eyes widening in horror and filling with tears.

"I'm so sorry," she said, "I didn't mean to be insensitive. I-I just lost my own parents a few weeks ago—"

"I never knew mine," Harriet interjected quietly, "I've been here for as long as I can remember. They told me that my parents died when I was one, and that my aunt and uncle didn't want me. … I guess nobody else wants me either—that's why I'm the only one who's been here so long."

"What do you mean?"

"Most of the other freaky kids like us get adopted eventually," said Harriet; she glanced at Hermione's flicking tail and ears and smiled sadly—almost longingly, "You probably will."

Hermione wasn't sure what to say, but she was suddenly overcome with a strong urge to hug Harriet. Instead, she asked her another question.

"Didn't the other children tell you about Wizards though? I can't be the only one who knew their parents."

"There haven't been that many of us, really. I've been here nine years, and you're only the fifth one I've met—maybe not everyone knew their parents or maybe they had, er… regular parents who didn't know they were Wizards. You could always ask Septimus I suppose, see if he knows—"

"Fat chance of that," Abigail snorted. "You should stay away from him, Hermione. He's really creepy and mean…"

"That's true," Harriet agreed. "It's not really his fault though. "His dad killed his mum when he was six and got chucked in prison. He's the only other one who has been here almost as long as me."

"That's _awful!"_ Hermione gasped.

"I suppose," said Abigail begrudgingly. "If he wasn't so horrid, I _might_ feel sorry for him."

"Septimus set a load of snakes on Abigail last year and she got bitten twice," Harriet explained. "That's _his_ freaky thing—he can make things like snakes and spiders and frogs just appear out of thin air whenever he's angry."

"I wasn't _trying_ to make him cross," said Abigail. "I mean—yeah, okay, maybe I was a bit rude, but all I did was ask Becky who the weirdo was my first week here—I didn't know he could hear me—he was a mile away…"

Harriet rolled her eyes.

"…okay, fine," Abigail huffed, "he was only the other side of the lawn from me, but that was like, ten metres away—how was _I_ supposed to know that he has super-hearing?"

Footsteps on the graveled path captured the attention of all three girls and Harriet groaned. A young, severe looking woman with very short chestnut hair was striding down the pathway; she was wearing what appeared to be a security uniform: a crisp white shirt with black epaulettes and a gold patch on her chest, and a well ironed black skirt.

"Oi—what's all this then, Potter?" she barked. "I hear you've been causin' trouble again—threatening one o' the payin' students."

Harriet scowled, saying nothing.

"If you're talking about _Edgar Theodore Stanfield the III_ , then he had it coming," said Abigail haughtily. " _I'm_ a paying student too, Vivian, and he was molesting my friend—he should be arrested. … _And_ he was smoking cigarettes too," she added for good measure.

"Yeah, right, Pincher," sneered Vivian, "like anyone's gonna back new money like you over a Stanfield. You wanna watch yourself—hangin' out with freaks like these two isn't doing yourself any favours—if you're not careful you'll lose movie night privileges."

Then Vivian turned her ire back on Harriet.

"And _you_ ," she snapped, "What'd Miss Hastings tell you about pretendin' to be a girl? You'll be cleanin' toilets for a week if I catch you at it again."

"I _am_ a girl," Harriet hissed, reaching for her belt buckle "Want me to show you?"

"You wanna make that a month then? I'm sure the janitors'd like a break from toilet cleanin' for a month."

"So what else is new?" Harriet muttered angrily, dropping her hands.

Hermione watched in fascination as Harriet's hair shortened and her facial features altered, becoming slightly more angular. But other than her untidy black hair being short and her face being slightly more boyish, there really wasn't any other visible physical change of note. Considering he was only ten that wasn't surprising, but Harriet's eyes—Harry's eyes now, Hermione supposed—were still too pretty to be a boy's eyes really.

Vivian seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

"I'm warnin' you—"

Harry stared mutinously at the security officer and reached for his belt, and this time he really did undo it and had his jeans down to the top of his thighs, exposing his briefs before Vivian yelled at him.

"Alright—alright! Zip it back up you little hooligan!" Then she turned around and marched off, muttering something about the "freaky little brat" under her breath.

"It's okay," said Harry once she had gone, "You can open your eyes now, Hermione."

Hermione peeked out from between her fingers before lowering her hand. Harry grinned at her ruefully.

"Sorry," he said. "Vivian's only been here a few weeks—she doesn't really know me very well yet, except for stuff she heard about me from the other Monitors and Miss Hastings—"

"Who?"

"She's the deputy headmistress," Abigail chimed in, "Miss Hastings is in charge of discipline."

"Oh!" Hermione frowned, her furry ears flicking as her bad feelings about the Institute returned in full force.

"It's not so awful here, really," said Abigail, quickly giving Hermione a hug. "You'll see."

"Speak for yourself," Harry grumbled, moodily kicking a pebble. "Now I'm stuck like this until things blow over unless I want to clean toilets."

Hermione gnawed her lower lip pensively. "Do you like being a girl more than being a boy then?"

"I'm alright with being a guy sometimes, actually," he sighed. "I just feel like I'm really a girl _most_ of the time—I mean, I _am_ really a girl most of the time; I just have to pretend I'm not when I'm inside the Institute or around teachers. So I just hang around outside as much as possible after classes, or in my dorm room at night—at least I don't have to share."

"Why don't we go and sit in the woods for a bit?" Abigail suggested. "You should be alright as long as nobody is else is around.

"Yeah, okay," Harry agreed, nodding.

"I don't get it," said Hermione as she and her two new friends strolled towards the wooded part of the grounds. "Why won't they let you be a girl if you'd rather be a girl? It seems a bit weird for them to be fussed about that sort of thing these days—I mean there are laws to protect trans people. I would think they would apply to you."

"I dunno really," Harry shrugged. "Miss Hastings just told me I'm not to—she seems to think I'm just having a laugh and trying to put one over on them I suppose—and Madam Trentworth backed her up."

The trio fell silent as they traipsed across another bit of lawn, past a statue and a pond surrounded by weeping willows, and into the woods. Hermione's mental gears whirred while they looked for a good spot, glad for the distraction of thinking about someone else's problems for a change.


	2. The Black Door

**The Black Door**

And that was how Hermione's time at the Bowland Institute began. Over the coming days the stares and whispers gradually faded as the other students got used to her appearance. Only a few—most of them apparently friends of Terrence, Edgar, and Susan, and some others—still sniggered and made jokes, many of them quite crude. Hermione and Abigail tried their hardest to ignore them, but they were old enough to feel humiliated when that lot made snide remarks about Abigail petting her pussy.

At least when classes were in session, Hermione didn't have to endure the insults and nasty comments of Terrence and Edgar's gang, and after her placement tests, she was quickly moved up to second year, much to the delight of Abigail and the disgruntlement of Harriet. Hermione pointed out that at least Harriet had been given the opportunity to start first year a year earlier, as she would have been in sixth year at primary school if she hadn't been raised at the Institute given her age.

"…but _you're_ not even eleven yet—not for weeks and they put you in with the second years," Harriet had grumbled after classes one afternoon.

"That's only because I was already doing second year work in fifth year at primary school, but the school system didn't want to advance me to the local Secondary School at my age," said Hermione briskly. "As I'm already here, there wasn't much point holding me back in first year—"

Harriet cheered up a bit when a few weeks later Hermione had earned enough points to get a little portable stereo, and Abigail was just as thrilled to have something to listen to during their off hours when they weren't doing homework. Abigail's marks also improved considerably thanks to Hermione's influence. And with friends and schoolwork to distract her it was easier for Hermione to stop herself from being too miserable about her parents being dead and desperately missing Meg.

Meg had been with Hermione every step of the way for nearly two months while child services sorted things out with her parents' will and insurance and bank accounts and property and had her evaluated by the NHS—where the doctors were baffled by her unusual "condition"—and had tried to get her placed in foster care. Meg had been her rock, the only one who hadn't treated Hermione like she was completely mental for talking about Wizards and magic.

As it had occasionally when she was little, at odd moments Hermione's mind drifted toward the enigma that was the larger Wizard community. She had visited the Ministry and the Wizengamot only once on a day trip to London with Mum and Dad.

She had met other Wizard children at the summer festivals in Devon and Cornwall, but by and large, she rarely came across any Wizard children, as she and her parents had lived in a Dorset suburb where there were no other Wizards. There were the twins who lived in Bournemouth, but they had never got on particularly well with Hermione, and all of her friends had been Muggles.

Mum and Dad had been going to register her with a Wizard secondary school over the summer, but that was months and months away, nearly a whole school year, and now they would never get the chance to. From what Hermione had been told, Wizard children attended Muggle primary schools with the Muggles to ensure a proper education in the fundamentals as the Wizard secondary schools focused primarily on magical subjects.

Mum and Dad had taught her a bit of Wizard history and a few basic spells of course, but now Hermione wondered if she would ever get to attend a Wizard school before she was 18. And what about Harriet and the other boy? She still hadn't met Septimus, as he was in third year, and he kept to himself after classes.

Most of the teachers were alright—a few were strict but not as mean as the Monitors—and were used to the occasional "odd" orphans.

The weather grew wetter and colder as the weeks passed, and by the time December drew nearer Hermione had earned enough points for a little television, much to the delight of Abigail and Harriet, who had both been going a bit stir crazy stuck inside (but at least Harriet had been happy enough to hang out in Hermione and Abigail's dorm after classes, where she could be a girl to her heart's content without being harassed).

Every so often during those weeks, Terrence and Edgar's lot would have a go at Hermione, but as horrid as they were, Edgar at least kept his hands to himself, apparently not willing to push his luck with Harriet again. And at lunch one day, Hermione learned firsthand why the gang avoided harassing Septimus, despite clearly having it in for the "freaky" kids.

With his sullen expression and long black hair covering half of his pallid face, Septimus cut a morose figure and the other students tended to give him a wide berth. It was Susan's bad luck to have not been looking where she was going while chatting to Angela Tipton, another snooty girl in Susan's year.

"I don't think I'll ever get algebra," Harry was griping as he dug into his shepherd's pie.

"Well at least _yours_ is simple—you're just in beginning Algebra," said Abigail a bit shrilly, "We've got an exam on Friday and I _still_ can't make heads or tails of quadratic equations—and you know how strict Miss Farthing is."

"Alright," huffed Hermione, her whiskers quivering and furry ears twitching as she rolled her eyes, "I'll help you both tonight—but that means no television—"

"Oi—watch where you're going!" Susan's sharp voice carried across the dining hall, startling Hermione, Harry, and Abigail.

They glanced up to see Susan suddenly looking frightened; her lunch tray had tipped, and mashed potato and gravy were sliding down the front of Septimus's school blazer.

"You did that on purpose," Septimus snarled.

"No—no," she squeaked, "I-I'm sorry—I didn't see you—"

"Liar!" shouted Septimus, his face twisted with fury, "I know what you lot think of me—you've been planning this for ages—thought you'd have a good laugh at the freak, didn't you?"

"No, I promise I didn't—please—"

A shriek of terror filled the dining hall. Hermione gaped in horror when maybe a hundred or more spiders, some of them as large as tarantulas, appeared out of thin air and swarmed all over Susan. The sixth-year girl flailed around screaming and sobbing, trying to knock the spiders off with her hands as her friend Angela dove out of the way. There were more shouts and yells; students leapt out of their seats and scattered as dozens of the enormous arachnids scurried towards their tables.

Vivian and Richard, the two Monitors dining with students that day, looked just as horrified as everyone else and were frozen in place.

"THAT'S ENOUGH, SEPTIMUS!" Miss Hastings bellowed as she stormed into the dining hall, stomping on several of the spiders. "Stop it this instant, or so help me, you'll be in the Time-Out room for a week!"

Septimus's eyes widened, and for a moment he looked almost as frightened as Susan, who was still shrieking. The spiders all vanished instantaneously, and Susan collapsed to the floor, shaking violently and sobbing.

"It wasn't my fault," said Septimus defiantly, jutting out his chin. "Look what she did to me!"

"That's no excuse!" snapped Miss Hastings. "A bit of mashed potato on your front is hardly an offence deserving a nuclear response—"

The deputy headmistress shot a severe look at Vivian and Richard who were still frozen in shock.

"You two," she barked, "Do your jobs! Vivian, take Miss Spencer to the infirmary at once—and Richard, you will please escort Mr. Reed to the Time-Out room…"

"No, wait, please," said Septimus, looking terrified again. "I didn't mean it—it won't happen again! I promise!"

"You'd best hope not, or next time it _will_ be a week," said Miss Hastings severely. "You're lucky I'm only chucking you in there till this evening—then it's off to your dorm for the night."

Septimus didn't say a word; he gulped, his nostrils flaring as he meekly exited the dining hall with Richard.

Hermione's heart raced, her bushy tail wagging wildly as she watched both Susan and Septimus departing the hall; she wasn't sure who to feel sorrier for.

There was no love lost between any of the trio and Susan, but all three of them were unnerved to see her still looking scared out of her wits; her nose was running, and her ashen face glistened with tears. But Septimus's fear at the mere mention of the Time-Out room was unsettling as well.

"Why is he so frightened?" asked Hermione quietly. "What do they do to you in the Time-Out room?"

"Nothing as far as I know," said Harry, shrugging. "It's just a really small empty room—more like a closet really—with a little cot. A Monitor guards the door if there's anyone in there and that's it. I should know—I spent a whole night in there after I gave Edgar a black eye… It was worth it though."

"Maybe he's got claustrophobia," Abigail suggested.

Hermione frowned, her furry ears flicking; the dining hall faded and she was in the dark cellar again, alone and terrified, listening to the roar of the inferno blazing through her house, ashamed that she had run down the stairs to escape the explosion and the two figures she had seen at the other end of the hall just past the flames billowing from the doorway of her parents' bedroom…

"Hey—hey, Hermione—"

Hermione blinked, surprised to find herself trembling and her face wet. Harry had his arm around her and Abigail was stroking her tail.

"There were two of them," she whispered.

"What?" Abigail looked puzzled, but Harry had an odd expression on his face.

"Two men—I think—maybe Dark Wizards. … I only just remembered. I-I think they were the ones who… the ones who…"

"The ones who blew up your house?" suggested Abigail.

Hermione nodded slowly and bit her lip, feeling ashamed all over again as more tears trickled down her cheek.

"I ran away—I left them… I left my parents—I should have tried to save them when the Dark Wizards vanished, but I was too afraid they would come back. … I should have tried to get to Mum and Dad—"

"It was too late," said Harry quietly, giving her a gentle squeeze. "There was too much fire—you couldn't've got through—there was no way! You'd've burnt to a crisp."

"Huh? How do you know that?"

"I-I dunno really," said Harry, looking as bewildered as Hermione felt. "I just… I saw it all in my head somehow when your eyes sort of went blank and you started to shake."

"You're a Telepath!" Hermione's eyes widened.

"What?"

"A Telepath," said Hermione, a thrill shooting up her spine. "Most Wizards have to study it and practice telepathy loads to be any good at it—it's supposed to be really hard, but you must be a _Natural_ Telepath."

"Oh!" A look of surprise crossed Harry's features. "But I've never even done that before. Wouldn't I have done that before if I'm a natural?"

Hermione shook her head. "Not necessarily. The Encyclopedia of Sorcery says a Natural Telepath can have their first real waking experience triggered any time between about six and twelve—before that, they _usually_ only have experiences while they're dreaming."

"Wow!" said Abigail, looking a bit envious. "That sounds amazing."

"Actually," Hermione continued, in her schoolteacher tone of voice, "it can be quite scary if you don't know what's happening—especially if the dreams or thoughts of the person you're tuned into are frightening," then Hermione looked at Harry with concern, "Are _you_ alright?"

"Sure!" said Harry, nodding. "I mean, yeah, it was really weird—but I could tell straight away it was you. I could see everything—looking through your eyes. I could feel everything you felt, too. And I'm, er… I'm sort of used to nightmares—I was more worried about you, really—that's about the worst I've ever felt."

"Even in your nightmares?"

"Yeah—they were kind of bad when I was little, but now they're just… sort of there. It's more like I'm just watching a television now, rather than _in_ them—"

"What do you see in your nightmares then?" asked Abigail, unable to restrain her curiosity.

"Not too different from Hermione's really," said Harry, shrugging. "Fire—except it was green—people screaming—some horrible looking guy chasing them… Maybe it's some sort of memory too—I really don't know—I can't really remember much from before I was three or four."

A crease formed between Hermione's eyebrows and she chewed her lower lip pensively, not sure what to make of that. It seemed relevant somehow, but she wasn't really sure why and she filed it away in the back of her mind.

 **~o0o~**

Several more weeks went by and a blanket of white lay across the grounds on the last day of the Autumn term. Snow covered the roof and icicles hung from the eaves of the Institute, and the ponds and fountains were frozen over. Most of the students were packing to return home for the Christmas holidays, including Abigail.

Hermione glumly watched her dormmate haphazardly stuffing a few clothes into a backpack after classes, struggling to restrain her tears. She wasn't sure she could bear to face Christmas without Mum and Dad, and she wouldn't even have Abigail to keep her company at nights.

Abigail gave her an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry. I wish I could take you home with me," she moaned. "I think it's really mean that they won't let you and Harry leave the Institute."

"They're probably afraid we'll get into trouble somehow with our magic—not that I've really got much besides being half-cat," Hermione grumbled miserably, "Well, not much besides a few little spells anyway…" she hesitated, her chest tightening.

"At least Harry can change form with his magic," Hermione concluded, her tail twitching.

"That's it," said Abigail brightly. "Maybe Harry can sneak out of his dorm at night and keep you company. I don't think there are very many Monitors over the holidays as far as I know."

"Do you really think so? I don't want him to get in trouble."

"I'm sure he'll be fine," said Abigail, giving Hermione a hug. "Just ask him when you see him. I'd better go now—Mum said she'd be here to pick me up at four and it's already ten after."

"Bye then," said Hermione. "I'll miss you…"

The Institute was almost empty when Hermione and Harry ate dinner in the dining hall that evening. Besides them, there were perhaps only a half-dozen students left, including Terrence who was sitting by himself and scowling. Hermione finally worked up the nerve to ask Harry halfway through her roast chicken and scalloped potatoes. She needn't have worried though.

"Yeah, of course I'll sleep over," he said eagerly.

"You're sure? I really don't want you to get in trouble."

"It's not a big deal—really. There's usually only a couple of Monitors over the holidays, so there aren't any night patrols…"

After dinner, Hermione returned to her dormitory. It felt hollow without Abigail to fill the void. Hermione opened a drawer to find her nightclothes. She halted, her eyes lingering on the _Hello Kitty_ nightie that she hadn't worn once since coming to the Institute. It was the nightie that Meg had bought for Hermione out of her own money to replace the one she had been wearing the night of the fire—the one which had been scorched and burned by flying embers.

Hermione felt a lump in her throat and blinked back tears. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then reached into the drawer for it. Once she had changed, Hermione had an odd sort of feeling; wearing the nightie made her feel sad, but it also made the room feel a bit less empty, as if her parents and Meg were with her. She turned on the radio, which was tuned to BBC1—the station that Abigail and Harriet seemed to prefer—and switched it to BBC3.

Despite the soothing music, Hermione grew more anxious while she waited. It was almost an hour and a half later when she heard a tap on her door and found Harry in his pyjamas and slippers on the other side, grinning and waiting to be let in. Hermione let out a sigh of relief.

"See, no problem," he said as his hair lengthened and his features rounded. And it doesn't really matter if anyone spots me in the corridor as long as they don't see me coming in and out of your dormitory—they'll just think I had to use the loo."

"That's a good point," said Hermione. "Do you want to watch a bit of television? I think _Luther_ is on in a bit—or maybe _Black Mirror_."

"You sure you don't want to watch _The Great British Bake-Off_?"

"Prat!" Hermione swatted Harriet with a pillow, but she felt her face breaking into a smile.

Harriet's blue-green eyes flickered towards the radio, from which strains of Stravinsky could be heard.

"Or we could just listen to music for a bit, if you'd rather," she offered.

"Oh, yes—alright then." Hermione made to turn the station back to BBC1.

"No, just leave it," said Harriet quickly.

"What?" Hermione shot Harriet a puzzled look, her hand still hovering over the button. "Really? You don't mind listening to classical music then?"

"Not tonight," Harriet replied, her voice gentle. Hermione bit her lip and her furry ears flicked, catching on.

"You don't have to," she said quietly.

"I want to," said Harriet firmly.

"Er… Okay."

Hermione didn't know why, but all of sudden she felt really shy and she blushed. The pair of schoolgirls sat on Hermione's bed, leaning on her pillows against the wall. Chopin followed Stravinsky, Beethoven followed Mozart, and Hermione purred contentedly as Harriet absentmindedly stroked her bushy tail…

 **~o0o~**

Hermione stirred, blinking blearily, surprised to find her arm curled around Harriet's waist. Harriet's soft snores mingled with the sound of mellow piano and flute emanating from the radio and Hermione wondered when they had fallen asleep. Her eyes caught the clock on the wall.

"Psst…" she whispered in Harriet's ear, not wanting to startle her. "Psst… Harriet…"

"Mmm… Hermione?" Harriet murmured, stirring.

"Yes, I just thought you should know—it's nearly six."

"Oh…" Harriet yawned and stretched. "I probably should go back to my dorm before anyone else wakes up. Thanks Hermione."

"Thank _you_ ," Hermione beamed. "I feel loads better now."

Harriet turned slightly pink and smiled. Her features altered slightly as her messy black hair shortened. He carefully cracked the door open and peeked down the corridor, then looked back at Hermione and grinned.

"All clear. I'll see you at breakfast then…"

The next few days passed peaceably. Hermione and Harry built a snowman, had snowball fights, and explored the frosty white grounds of the Institute, which felt like a different world when it was covered in snow.

The few other students at the Institute over the holidays kept to themselves by and large as well. Septimus was nowhere to be seen and Terrence moped around in the distance, looking more miserable than Hermione had ever seen him look. He caught her eyes and scowled, stalking the other way.

"I wonder if he's alright," Hermione said quietly, her breath clouding in the air. "He looks so sad."

"I suppose," said Harry, shrugging as he hurled a snowball which struck a statue of an Admiral square in the face and exploded. Hermione frowned, her tail wagging.

"Does he stay at the Institute every Christmas?"

Harry dropped the handful of snow he had just scooped up to form another snowball and gave Hermione a funny look.

"Yeah—he does, come to think of it. You're not actually sorry for him, are you?"

Hermione's frown deepened.

"I am actually. Nobody should be alone at Christmas if they've got family. Maybe that's why he's so horrid to us all the time—maybe his family doesn't like him."

"Oh!" said Harry as if the thought had never occurred to him. "I guess that would be pretty horrible."

Hermione stared at Harry a moment, her whiskers quivering with emotion.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly.

"What? Why?"

"You've never had a family to share Christmas with."

"Yeah, that's true," said Harry indifferently; then his brows knotted in consternation and he took Hermione's hand. "But I can't really miss what I've never had. I get it now—why you feel sorry for Terrence—really."

Hermione nodded, her eyelashes fluttering downward. Harry looked at her awkwardly then pulled her closer and gave her a tentative hug. The next thing Hermione knew she was embracing Harry tightly, crying quietly, burying her face in his shoulder.

After the hug and a hot cup of cocoa, Hermione felt much better. She and Harriet lounged in her dorm eating sausage rolls and cheese straws, and drinking eggnog while watching Christmas specials and comedies on her little television.

Other than the Christmas dinner and the holiday snacks (which were available from morning to night every day through the winter break) Christmas Day came and went with little fanfare. It was hard not to have spells of missing her parents, and Meg, and Abigail, but Harriet managed to keep her spirits up most of the time.

 **~o0o~**

It was the day after New Year's Day, late at night, just after twelve. Hermione woke up, grumbling to herself when she felt the sudden urge. Harriet stirred when she clambered out of bed.

"I just have to use the loo," Hermione whispered, wrapping herself in a fuzzy blue robe. "I'll be right back."

Harriet nodded and closed her eyes again. In her slippers and dressing gown, Hermione padded quietly down the dimly lit corridor to the nearest bathroom. After she had finished and washed her hands, Hermione began to head back to her dorm when a voice broke the silence.

"No! Please," a boy's cry carried down the hallway. "Please… don't make me—"

"Get a move on—don't make this harder than it has to be," said a gruff man's voice that Hermione didn't recognize.

Hermione's skin crawled at the panic in the boy's voice. It was Septimus. They couldn't be putting him in the Time-Out room, could they? In the middle of the night? It didn't make any sense.

Her heart pounding, Hermione tip-toed down the hall as fast as she could and slipped into her room. She gave Harriet a little shake.

"Huh? What?" said Harriet sleepily.

"It's Septimus. Some man I've never seen before is taking him somewhere—I think to the Time-Out room."

"In the middle of the night? That's weird," Harriet mumbled.

"Come on," said Hermione, tugging the sleeve of Harriet's pyjamas, "I want to see what's going on."

"Oh—alright then."

Harriet rubbed the sleep from her eyes and got up. By the time they reached the hallway Harriet was a boy again. They could still hear the voices echoing down the shadowy corridor. The curious pair scampered down the hall as quietly as possible; they were just in time to see the man and Septimus on the landing of the stairwell below.

"That's Mr. Burke," Harry hissed in Hermione's ear, "He's the security chief—the one who tells the Monitors what to do. He's almost never here himself though—just comes to inspect things every once in a while."

Hermione bit her lip and nodded, her furry ears flicking with agitation. Silently they both crept down the stairs and cautiously peered around the bannister. As they hadn't been caught out yet, they continued to follow the security chief and Septimus who now seemed resigned to his fate. To Hermione and Harry's surprise, once they had reached the ground floor, instead of heading for the Time-Out room, Mr. Burke led Septimus to a black door under a nightlight at the end of a dark corridor behind the kitchen.

"The basement," whispered Harry. "I've never been down there. It's usually locked."

"Why would Mr. Burke take him there?" asked Hermione, her trepidation growing with leaps and bounds.

"Dunno," said Harry, "Come on—let's go have a look."

"I'm not sure," Hermione moaned. "Maybe this was a bad idea."

"Are you joking? You're the one who wanted to see what was going on."

"I know," Hermione was torn between her growing fear and her anguish, "I felt bad for Septimus and I just wanted to make sure they weren't going to hurt him—"

"Oi—"

Hermione and Harry both nearly jumped out of their skins and spun around to see Christine behind them in a thin dressing gown.

"What're you two doin' down here?" she asked, her voice low and a frightened look on her face.

"Er…" was the best Hermione could manage.

"We heard voices and we wanted to see where Mr. Burke was taking Septimus," said Harry boldly. "You're not going to turn us in, are you?"

"'Course not! What'd'you take me for?" said Christine. "But you'd better get back to your dorms before Burke or one of 'is goons finds you down here."

"Why? What's going on?" asked Hermione, finding her voice. "What's in the basement? They're not going to hurt him, are they?"

"Honestly, I don't know," Christine hissed. "But I don't really wanna find out. All I know is that once they start taking the ones like you two down to the basement, they're usually gone after a few weeks. I don't want that happenin' to you guys. … Now go on—get back t'bed before they find you!"

There didn't seem to be much choice in the matter at this point. Harry and Hermione climbed back up the stairs and returned to Hermione's dorm room, both of them unsatisfied by the outcome of their midnight stroll.

"So, what was that all about?" said Harriet out loud after turning back into a girl.

Hermione didn't answer right away—it was more than apparent that Harriet was being rhetorical. Her mental gears started whirring.

"Christine said the ones like us disappear a few weeks after they start going down to the basement," she said, "and you told me that the others that had been here over the years had been adopted. There must be a connection."

"Well," said Harriet slowly, looking deeply disturbed, "that's what I was always told. But what if they're doing something really horrible to them and then killing them. Christine was really scared."

"That doesn't really make sense though. Why keep children like us so long before murdering them?" Hermione pointed out. "Why would you still be here?"

"Oh, yeah, you're right," Harriet agreed, nodding. "But obviously something fishy is going on."

"Obviously!" said Hermione in the tone of voice she used when helping Harriet and Abigail with their schoolwork. "If the security chief is involved, and it's happening late at night, it's not very likely to be anything to do with adoptions. It must have something to do with us being Wizards—perhaps the government is taking us to a secret lab to study us. But then why would _you_ be here so long?"

"Maybe… maybe it has something to do with the type of magic we have?" Harriet suggested. "Maybe they don't think my magic is very good—me being able to turn into a girl doesn't seem very useful to anyone but me. They might be looking for kids with magic that can actually do real stuff, like… er…"

"…like stuff which could hurt people," said Hermione in a small voice. "That does make the most sense. They must be using the basement to test whatever a particular Wizard's Magical Expression is—"

"Magical expression?"

"It's the way a child's magic manifests before they're taught how to control it and make it do other stuff with spells," Hermione explained in her school-teacher tone of voice again. " _The Encyclopedia of Magic_ says that 'Magic Follows Intent.' So magical children naturally express themselves in various ways which follow their deepest natures. … Septimus had a pretty awful time of it with his horrible father, right? And he's probably naturally drawn to dark feelings too. So, when he's angry…"

"…he makes horrible creatures appear, like snakes and spiders, and other creatures which most people hate. Of course!" said Harriet, her eyes widening. "That's why I can turn into a girl without having to do a spell—because my deepest nature is to like being a girl… most of the time, anyway."

"Exactly!" Hermione nodded. "I haven't expressed anything in particular yet—maybe because I was supposed to be an animagus and got stuck this way instead. Though, I did do a little bit of telekinesis a few times when I really wanted something I couldn't reach, and I can do a few little spells."

"I bet you could do more powerful telekinesis if you tried then," said Harriet. "You just never really needed to because your parents were usually around to get stuff for you."

"You know, I think you're right," said Hermione, looking very impressed. "I never really thought about it like that."

"You'll just have to be careful not to use it around anyone here," said Harriet worriedly. "I don't want anyone to find out you can do anything useful."

"Well, hopefully we won't be here long enough for anyone to find out anything."

"Wait—what?"

"We have to get out of here if we want to help Septimus and help ourselves too. We can't just stay here hoping that nobody figures out that we can do more than be half-cat or change gender at will."

"Blimey!" Harriet paled. "You're right. But where would we go? I've never been off the grounds."

"Meg's!" said Hermione without hesitation. "She was my social-worker and she's really nice. She looked after me for two months while things got sorted out after my parents died. I was only sent here because they weren't having much luck finding anyone who wanted to foster me. … I know she'll help us, and I know her phone numbers."

"Okay—alright," said Harriet, nodding. "So, how are we going to get out of here? And when d'you want to make a break for it?"

"Abigail will be back the day after tomorrow—her mum is bringing her back a few days before the beginning of the term. I really don't want to leave her without saying goodbye."

Hermione didn't want to leave her at all; she had got very attached to her dorm-mate and Harriet, and she wished she could take Abigail as well.

"And as far as getting out," Hermione went on, trying not to think about leaving Abigail behind, "I know where all the security cameras are. And if you're right about my telekinesis being more powerful than anything I've done before—"

"I am," said Harriet certainly.

"Er…" Hermione was a bit taken aback by Harriet's certainty, "Then maybe I could use it to disable the cameras and break the lock on the gates."

"That should work," Harriet agreed, "And we'll only have Richard and Vivian to worry about. There won't be any other Monitors here until the beginning of term. So we should go at night when they're asleep."

"Okay! It's settled then. We'll go the night after Abigail gets back," said Hermione…


	3. Inferno

**Inferno**

"Give it a rest," Harry hissed.

"What?"

"You keep looking at Septimus," said Harry. "Knock it off, before you make someone suspicious."

Hermione turned pink and quickly averted her eyes and looked at her breakfast instead, swallowing the piece of bacon she had been gnawing on nervously. Then she gulped down some tea, surreptitiously giving Mr. Burke a look out of the corner of her eye. Fortunately, he hadn't seemed to notice.

"I don't want them to hurt him," she whispered. "I was thinking if we could manage to talk to him, we could help him escape tomorrow night before they take him back down to the basement again."

"Are you joking? They're watching him like a hawk now. There's no way we could pull it off without getting caught."

Sure enough, Richard was sitting right next to Septimus on the other side of the table from the security chief. Hermione sighed and finished eating her scrambled eggs. She and Harry tried to distract themselves by playing in the snow again after breakfast but were dismayed by what they found outside.

"Crap!" Harry muttered as he and Hermione trudged through the snowdrifts which were nearly up to their knees. "I never thought about that—they've got a load more Monitors. How're we going to get past that lot?"

"They're not school Monitors," said Hermione, her voice low as she glanced at the black uniforms, replete with thick black winter coats. "They're real security officers. They've even got guns—see those bulges at the bottom of their coats and the black tips poking out—those are gun holsters on their belts."

"Blimey! Your eyesight's amazing. I can barely see them."

"And they can't be legal—security guards aren't allowed." Hermione scowled.

"Really? I thought all security guards carried guns," said Harry.

"That's only on American television shows. They're allowed over there," said Hermione authoritatively. "Anyway, is this the first time you've seen them? … I mean, weren't there any guards around before the others were supposedly adopted."

"Hmm," Harry frowned as he tried to remember. "The last one of us they took was a few years ago. Come to think about it there were a load of guards around for a few weeks. I just thought they were extra Monitors I guess."

"Well, this definitely proves that there's something bad going on," said Hermione. "We _have_ to get out of here. Maybe Meg can get the police to stop them before they take Septimus away. This can't be legal—even if they're government it just _can't_ be."

"Alright," Harry agreed. "So, what's the new plan?"

"Well, first we're just going to act like we're playing in the snow as usual," said Hermione. "We'll look for all the exits, and we'll count how many guards they've got outside, and see where they're stationed. They're sure to be stationed in the same spots at night."

"Yeah, okay. That makes sense—just like in the movies. Still, it'll be hard to spot them in the dark, and if some of them are patrolling that could be a problem."

"I've got night vision, not to mention a good sense of smell and hearing—the advantages of being part cat," Hermione pointed out.

"Oh, right—I forgot about your super-hearing and super-nose," said Harry, grinning. "I hope I'm not too stinky for you."

"Actually, you smell quite… er…" Hermione trailed off, her cheeks suddenly feeling hot enough to melt an iceberg.

"Quite what?" asked Harry, raising his eyebrows and smirking. "Like a rubbish heap full of fish-heads, or like roses and strawberries? I always thought I smelled like chocolate and cinnamon, actually."

"Just forget I said anything," said Hermione crossly.

"Oh, come on—you can't just leave me hanging. So, what is it then? Vanilla and lavender? Or bacon? I know you like bacon—"

"Shut up!" Hermione swatted Harry. "I was just going to say you smell nice—okay!"

"Okay," said Harry, then he sighed, his grin fading. "I wish I had cool abilities like you though. You can do loads of stuff—you've even got a photographic memory."

"Well—you did just start showing signs of Telepathy and I'm sure you could do more stuff too, actually," said Hermione thoughtfully. "Maybe after this, we could practice a bit in my dorm-room—see if we can't coax a bit more magic out of you…"

The next few hours Hermione and Harry worked their way around the entire Institute, throwing snowballs and even stopping to make a small snowman so they didn't arouse anyone's suspicions. By the time they went back inside they were both half-frozen and soaked through. They returned to Hermione's room, picking up a pile of Cornish pasties and mince pies from the dining hall on the way.

"We'd better get you out of those wet things," said Hermione when she heard Harry's teeth chattering.

"Maybe I should go back to my room," said Harry.

"Don't be silly. You can wear one of my nighties and borrow Abigail's dressing gown until your clothes dry on the radiator."

"Oh yeah. Of course," said Harry, smacking his forehead. "I'll just change into a girl first."

A few minutes later Hermione and Harriet felt much warmer in clean, dry nightclothes.

"You know what's weird, I actually feel strange wearing a nightie," said Harriet, "even though I prefer being a girl. I've never worn a dress or anything like that."

Hermione giggled, her whiskers quivering with mirth.

"I did have a few skirts and dresses, but I've worn skirts here more than I ever did at home. My primary school didn't have uniforms, and most of the time I wore jeans unless I was actually going out somewhere with Mum and Dad. … Anyway, do you want to try doing a bit of magic then?"

"Yeah, alright," said Harriet eagerly.

Harriet's eagerness turned to disgruntlement after an hour of trying to levitate something with her mind. Hermione frowned and bit her lip. Harriet wasn't relaxing enough to just let it happen, then a light-bulb went off in her frontal lobes.

"When I was practicing spells with Mum or Dad and having difficulty, sometimes they would play some classical music. Why don't we try that with you?"

Harriet looked a bit skeptical.

"Not with classical," Hermione quickly added, "I meant with something that you really like which relaxes you…"

Harriet opened her mouth to suggest a station.

"And no, I don't think rock music is going to do it," said Hermione, anticipating her suggestion, "but you like electronic music too, right? If we can find a station playing some, that should do the trick."

"I was actually going to say that classical would be alright," said Harriet, raising her eyebrows and smiling. "Usually you just let Abigail and me listen to whatever we like, but I never knew how good a lot of classical music is until spending most of this holiday with you—I always thought it was _all_ boring."

Hermione turned a bit pink, feeling shy and not really sure why again.

"Well, I actually think a lot of electronic music is nice too," she said. "The steady rhythms—as long as they're not _too_ bouncy—and the synthesizer sounds are perfect for this sort of thing."

"Oh, cool!" said Harriet.

It took a few minutes to find a station with electronic music which wasn't too staticky. Serendipitously, it just happened to be playing a set of Trance tracks. Pulsing rhythms and looping arpeggios punctuated by buzzy twangs and overlaid with sweeping melodies filled Hermione's dorm; she and Harriet began to feel floaty in no time.

"Go on then, try the pillow now," said Hermione, and Harriet lifted her hand, her palm facing the pillow on Hermione's bed.

The pillow rose in the air several feet and Harriet gaped at it in shock. She was so stunned that the pillow dropped almost immediately, flopping on the bed. Harriet didn't need any prodding. She tried again without hesitation, and the pillow floated to the ceiling. Feeling the tingles of magic coursing through her veins, connecting her to the pillow, Harriet directed it around the room like someone directing a radio-controlled toy airplane.

"I can't believe it," said Harriet. "This is amazing—but I thought you said it was something that was a natural 'expression' for some kids. Shouldn't I need a spell to do this?"

"Not Telekinesis, no. Telepathy is the same. They're natural magical extensions of the human mind and energy field. It's only things that aren't natural to humans or complicated magic like conjuring and transmutation which need spells—unless they're a child's Magical Expression of course. Spells take a lot longer to learn, so there's not really much point showing you how to do them right now. … Anyway, the Telekinesis will be the most useful when we escape tomorrow night. You should practice doing it without music now…"

 **~o0o~**

It was bittersweet seeing Abigail the next morning after breakfast. Hermione found herself swept into a rib-cracking embrace when the squealing girl with bouncing curly pigtails pounced on her.

"Oof!" Hermione gasped for air and wondered if this was how her hugs felt.

"Sorry," said Abigail, beaming. "I missed you loads…"

"How about me?" Harry grinned. "Where's my hug?"

Abigail giggled and flung herself at Harry too.

"Be careful what you wish for," said Hermione primly at the sight of his reddening face.

The trio made their way up to Hermione and Abigail's dorm-room as Abigail chattered away, telling them all about her holiday.

"…and I've got you both Christmas presents," she was saying as they entered the dorm.

Hermione didn't know what to say when Abigail handed her the package wrapped in sparkling scarlet and green paper topped with a golden bow, and her eyes filled with tears. Harriet had already torn her parcel open to reveal a CD when Abigail noticed that she was crying.

"Hermione, what's wrong?"

"It-it's just… Harriet and I have to leave tonight."

"What?" Abigail gaped at her in shock.

"Er… you'd better sit down for this," said Harriet.

Hermione told Abigail everything, with Harriet chiming in at intervals. Abigail listened intently, her eyes getting bigger and bigger, and she looked horrified when Hermione and Harriet had finished filling her in.

"So that's what all the extra security is for," she muttered. "I thought that was weird."

"Yeah," said Harriet, nodding, "I saw them a few times before, when I was younger. But I had no idea that they had anything to do with the other kids like me and Hermione."

Abigail set her jaw resolutely, her nostrils flaring with emotion.

"Right—obviously you two can't stay here. … I'm coming with you then."

"What?" Hermione gasped. "No—you can't."

"No way!" said Harriet. "Hermione said they've got guns."

"It's too dangerous—"

"I'm not letting you two go without me," said Abigail fiercely. "Besides—they can't shoot us—we're just kids. They'd get in loads of trouble if they shot any of the students. They're probably just here to make sure nobody else gets in and finds out what's going on while they're testing Wizards in the basement."

"But still…" Harriet glanced at Hermione who had gone all quiet. "Hermione, tell her."

Hermione sighed, looking anguished. "Abigail's got a point, actually. They're not here to stop anyone leaving—well, maybe you and me and Septimus—but they're probably mainly here to keep spies out."

"And anyway," said Abigail, looking a bit smug, "my mum's a solicitor—and she's _very_ high up in the firm. They mainly represent Barclays, but mum knows judges and lots of powerful people. So if I'm with you and those guards try anything, they'll be in trouble and the school will be in trouble. Mum could probably get the school closed down if anything happened to me."

Hermione chewed her lower lip, her whiskers quivering and her thoughts racing.

"So, if you do come with us—"

"I _am_ coming with you!"

"—you could call your mum once we get somewhere safe, and she could get people to investigate and rescue Septimus."

"I'm sure of it," said Abigail.

"Alright then," said Hermione, unable to help feeling a surge of happiness, despite the seriousness of the situation.

"I don't suppose I've got any say in it then," Harriet grumbled irritably.

"Not really, no," Hermione raised her eyebrows, "Abigail's right—we'll be safer with her than without her."

"You two should get packed up then," said Abigail, beaming, not looking at all like she was preparing to go on a dangerous adventure.

 **~o0o~**

It was well after midnight. Hermione had packed all her belongings in her backpack—the clothes she had brought with her, and her books, and the still wrapped Christmas present that Abigail had given her. Hermione was sure it was a book by the feel of it, and she had told Abigail that she would unwrap it when they were all safe and sound. Harry too was all packed up and ready to go; all of his things were in Abigail's backpack as he had never had his own. And all three of them were bundled up, prepared for the bitter cold.

Silently the three of them crept through the dimly lit corridor, keeping to the shadows as much as possible, and turned down the hallway leading to the staircase.

"Oi," a voice hissed, just loud enough for them to hear, and the trio all started with fright. They whirled around in alarm as Terrence emerged from the darkness, glowering at them.

"So where are you lot going?" he growled.

"What are you doing up?" Harry snapped.

"You don't think I didn't know you've been hanging out with the catgirl, did you, Harry?" Terrence sneered. "My dorm is right next to yours, I hear you coming and going sometimes, and I heard you rummaging around tonight."

Harry groaned, cursing under his breath.

"So why didn't you turn us in then?" he asked.

"Because it's no skin off my nose what you lot get up to together," said Terrence. "I may think you're a bit of a freak, but I'm not a dirty rat—"

"You mean like Edgar?" said Harry, giving Terrence a hard stare.

"Er…"

Even in the half-light, the trio could see the embarrassment on Terrence's face.

"Yeah," said Terrence, sighing. "I know I've been a bit of a prat to you lot, but I'm not a hothead like Edgar. … Anyway, where are you three going?"

Nobody said a word.

"Look, I'm not going to turn you in, alright. I promise."

Hermione eyed Terrence warily, sniffing as her bushy tail waved back and forth in agitation; his demeanor and his scent seemed to match.

"We're getting out of here," she said. "That Mr. Burke—the security chief—he's doing things to Septimus—probably to find out how many sorts of horrid things Septimus can conjure—and then he's going to kidnap him—that's why there's loads of security guards. Harriet and I don't want to be next."

Terrence looked suitably horrified. "You're serious, aren't you!"

"Dead serious," said Harry stiffly, as if he still didn't trust Terrence.

"Take me with you," said Terrence suddenly.

"What?" Harry was stunned.

"Take me with you," said Terrence again, his voice pleading. "I'm sick of this dump!"

"But—your parents—" said Abigail, speaking up for the first time, "—aren't they just going to send you right back?"

"It's just my dad, and I'm sick of him too—I'm not going back to that bastard."

Hermione detected a quaver of fear just beneath the surface of the anger in Terrence's tone, and her furry tail bristled.

"He hurts you—your father hurts you, doesn't he? When you're at home in the summertime. Does he hit you?"

"Wha… h-how did you know?"

"I'm quite good at reading people," said Hermione without a hint of conceit. "My senses are enhanced by the cat part of me—that has a lot to do with it."

"Oh, er… yeah! You're right actually, but I'd rather not talk about it."

"We need to stop jawing all night and get going anyway," said Harry, sounding exasperated. "If you're coming with us, Terrence, you'll need more than pyjamas."

"Er… right," said Terrence, looking a bit surprised. "Give me half a tick then."

Five minutes later, Terrence was bundled up and three were four, and they all padded quietly down the stairs. Through the carpeted hallways on the ground floor they stole, making a beeline for a side-entrance—an emergency exit added to the seventeenth century manor house in modern times, locked from the outside, but not from the inside.

"What are we waiting for?" Terrence whispered after several minutes while Hermione kept looking at her watch.

"To make sure there's no guard patrolling near this entrance," she replied. "If they hold to the pattern they went by during the day, we should be able to sneak out in about five minutes and have another ten or fifteen minutes before one of them goes by again."

The next few minutes passed by interminably, all of them growing more antsy by the second. Finally, the wait was over, and Hermione carefully opened the door, sniffing the frigid air, her furry ears flicking as the snow continued to fall.

"Okay," she hissed, "it's all clear for the moment."

"We're going straight for those hedgerows over there," whispered Harry, pointing, "Keep low, and then we're heading right into the woods. We should be able to make it without being seen."

"Okay," said Abigail, who was shivering already.

"Got it," said Terrence, nodding.

Everything seemed to be going fine, although Hermione was worried that the next guard would notice the furrows in the snowdrifts when he passed by the emergency exit. They had just entered the woods when they heard the sound of barking. Abigail squealed with fright.

"Bloody hell!" Harry moaned. "Dogs—of course they had to have bloody dogs at night."

"Come _on_ then," said Hermione, her furry tail bristling. "Run! The gate's that way."

The foursome ploughed through the snow as fast as they could as the barking drew nearer. There was shouting, and yells of, "Over there," and several beams of bright light pierced darkness, illuminating some of the trees around them. There were a number of loud pops and Abigail started crying.

"What the hell?" Terrence glanced behind them and grabbed Abigail, trying to shield her as they ran. "Are they actually shooting at us?"

"Crap! Crap! Crap!" Harry swore.

There were several thunks off to the side, and something whizzed past Hermione's head and struck a tree just up ahead.

"Darts," she shouted, inwardly sighing with relief that at least nobody was going to get killed, "They're shooting tranquilizer darts."

The dogs were getting closer and Hermione knew they were finished unless she did something. But what? She really didn't want to use _that_ spell—the one which had frightened her ever since her parents had died.

Breathing heavily, she pushed that thought aside and decided to take a chance that Harry had been right. Hermione whirled around and halted, arms stretched out and both of her palms facing the hounds, and she concentrated as hard as she could.

"Hermione?" Harry yelled, "What—?"

Hermione ignored Harry as the shadows and beams of light seemed to ripple around her. She hoped it would work—she had never tried it before—and she pushed her magic outward with all her might.

There were loud cracking sounds—branches snapped off trees and splintered—icicles and snow flew—zipping darts appeared to bounce away from the foursome—a radiating blast of telekinetic power carved out a cone-shaped swath in the powdery drifts in front of her.

Hermione saw the black silhouettes of the dogs hurtling backward and heard them yelping and howling. She couldn't help feeling sorry and hoping she hadn't hurt any of them.

"Holy fuck!" she heard one of the men bellowing—probably Mr. Burke. "We were messing around with the wrong kid. … _That's_ the one I want!"

Hermione's heart thumped loudly in her ears; she wasn't sure what to do. The men couldn't get to her and the others while she held them at bay, but the moment she stopped pushing and ran, the men would be after them again.

"Go!" she shouted at the other three, making a decision on the spot. "I'll hold them off!"

"Are you mental? I'm not leaving you behind," Harry yelled. "What about one of your spells? Can they do anything?"

Hermione thought a moment. There was _that_ one, but the very idea of using it terrified her, and for a moment she was back in her burning house, hiding in the cellar. She snapped out of it quickly, not wanting to lose her Push.

"I can try something," she shouted back. "But I need to drop my Push to do it. You'll have to Push for me."

"Me?"

"Yes! Think back to last night, but instead of holding something and making it fly around you'll have to push your magic out in front of you, like I'm doing!"

Harry hesitated a moment, looking extremely anxious, then his features hardened with determination. He turned and faced the same direction that Hermione was facing and raised his hands in front of him, palms out as she was doing. The air seemed to ripple around him—the waves of force propelled toward the men who were still trying to shoot darts at them in vain.

Hermione prayed that Harry's Push was strong enough to hold them back and dropped her own. She breathed a sigh of relief to see that he was no less powerful than she.

For the second time that night, Hermione decided to try something new with her magic. She pressed her thumb tips and the tips of her first two fingers together, forming a diamond shape, folding her second two digits into her palms.

"Incendio," she murmured

Her hands began to vibrate, and she felt the heat radiating from her lower abdomen, and then shooting up her spine to her fingertips. Hermione was ready.

She drew her hands apart and remembered what Mum had taught her—never use more than one finger. Hermione knew what would happen if she used more than one finger; Mum had been very clear.

Scared of using too many fingers, and frightened of not using enough, Hermione held up one hand and used all four fingers and her thumb. Five tiny flames—no more than a candle's-worth each—flickered to life, then extended from her fingertips and curled around each other like fiery little serpents, combining into one. An inferno erupted from Hermione's hand like a flamethrower.

Her eyes brimming with tears, hoping that the men and dogs stayed well back, Hermione swept her hand from one side to the other and the billowing projection of flame lit the trees and shrubbery ablaze, melting the snow in its path and creating a wall of fire.

"Okay," she shouted at the others who were staring at the conflagration, their mouths gaping, "Let's go! … The gate is that way."

The others needed no more encouragement. The four youths barreled through the trees towards the granite wall which encircled the grounds of the Institute, then pelted through the snow towards the gates.

Hermione didn't even stop to think; she raised one hand and Pushed. The wrought iron gates twisted and shrieked as they blew off their hinges, clanging and clattering when they hit the other side of the slushy road. Then Hermione aimed her hand at the security cameras and they exploded.

"Which way?" panted Harry.

"The nearest village is that way," Hermione managed to gasp. "We should be able to find a telephone. There's a little petrol station there which had a sign that said twenty-four hours."

"Oh!" Abigail wheezed, "That's right! I think we drove by it this morning when Mum dropped me off. I don't know if I can make it that far."

"Of course you can," said Terrence, who was still puffing as well. "But I'll carry you if I have to."

Abigail stuck her tongue out and glowered at him.

"I'll manage by myself," she snapped.

Terrence grinned at her. Harry chuckled and shook his head— _her_ head rather, as Harriet had taken the opportunity to transform while they caught their breaths.

"We'd better get a move on," said Hermione, smiling gratefully at Terrence.

They made for the other side of the road where they could jog through the snow on the ground without slipping on the slushy, icy asphalt or the pavement. Snowflakes swirled around them as they ran. Hermione glanced back at the dark walls of the Institute, behind which the orange glow of flames lit up the night on the other side…

 **~o0o~**

Hermione woke with a start and bolted upright, her chest pounding and her tail bristling. She peered around the dark room and let out a sigh of relief that it wasn't a tiny dark cellar or a house full of flames.

"You alright?" Harriet whispered from the other side of the room.

"Nightmare," said Hermione. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's okay. I was still awake anyway. I like it here—and it's cool being able to go places I've never been before—and Meg is nice—but it still feels weird not being at the Institute."

"Well, you did grow up there," said Hermione sadly. "It's alright to miss it."

"Yeah, I suppose. There's loads about it I don't miss though—it's great being a girl as much as I want. It's just… well, at least we'll get to see Abigail next weekend."

Hermione smiled wanly.

"If you're feeling a bit lonely, there's plenty of room in my bed," she said.

"Yeah—okay—that sounds nice," said Harriet, sounding a bit brighter.

She got out of bed and climbed into Hermione's beside her. Both girls let out a little sigh and began to unwind. Hermione's thoughts began to drift as she settled.

The night of the escape hadn't been much more than a month ago and Hermione wondered how Terrence was doing. As he was over sixteen, it turned out that he was well within his rights not to live at home anymore with his horrible father. Abigail's mum had helped him find a flat in Leeds not far from their own home and rented it for him in her name.

Fortunately, Terrence had loads of money in a private account to pay for everything. Abigail's mum had pressured his father into paying a lump sum into the account every month under threat of prosecution for child abuse.

Hermione missed not having Abigail around all the time, but at least she was staying with her mother in their London flat during the week these days, instead of at their home on the outskirts of Leeds (and Abigail was getting along much better with her tutors—probably because she was much happier not being left alone at home with them and the nannies on weekdays while her mum was working in London, Hermione surmised). And London wasn't too far away for Abigail to take the train to Poole every other weekend.

Feeling cheerier at the thought, especially with Harriet to keep her company, Hermione slipped into slumber, her nightmare soon forgotten.

 **~o0o~**

Laughter wafted through the open window from the back garden and Meg looked up from her book, smiling to herself. At first, she had been a bit concerned that living in Poole, just across town from her old home, might be unsettling to Hermione. But Hermione seemed happy about it if anything, though that might have partly been due to Hermione's attachment to her.

Meg wiped a stray tear away, remembering the day that Hermione had first told her that she loved her. It had been the hardest thing she had ever done, leaving Hermione at the Institute.

Thank God the police had closed down that bloody place and rescued the other poor kid there!

It was a shame that they never found out who was taking the children though—that lot had all been long gone by the time the fire brigade had arrived on scene. And the information the horrible headmistress had given the police had turned out to be a dead end—the "security agency" contracted by the Institute didn't seem to exist. That Hermione's friend Harriet had never been taken was nothing short of a miracle.

It was easy to see why Hermione liked Harriet; she was bold and a bit of a cheeky monkey at times, but a real sweetheart. And thankfully, Harriet really seemed to feel more at home now that it was nearly Easter.

It had taken a bit of getting used to, Harriet wandering about as a boy on occasion, and Meg had considered putting her in another room, but she didn't have the heart to. In any case, Harriet seemed to prefer being a girl most of the time, and it was clear that Harriet and Hermione needed each other's company at night—especially Hermione, who still had nightmares a few times a week.

And Meg was perfectly happy to let Abigail sleep over every other weekend; seeing Hermione's face light up every time was more than enough to make it worthwhile. Meg was extremely grateful in fact—none of this could have been possible without Abigail's mother, really.

At first it had been a bit of a tough sell at the agency, keeping Hermione, not to mention her friend Harriet as well, but having a high-powered solicitor backing her up had cut through all the red tape and sorted out any legal issues in no time flat. Abigail's mum had even used her resources to find a home for the other poor kid.

Meg picked up her book again as more giggles drifted in with the Spring breeze. She hadn't got more than three paragraphs down the page when the trilling of the doorbell interrupted her reverie. She sighed and set her book on the coffee table.

Wondering who could possibly be calling without giving her a ring first, Meg trotted to the front door and peered through the peephole. An elderly couple were perched on her brick patio-doorstep.

The grey-haired woman looked normal enough, though a bit fidgety, but the old man cut an odd figure indeed. He appeared to be a bit out of place in his tan casual jacket over a pastel blue button-up shirt and jeans. It wasn't so much the clothes—they just didn't match up with his piercing, but quite friendly looking blue eyes, and his long, silvery white beard. He looked like a man out of time, like someone who should be wearing robes, a pointy hat, and carrying a staff.

"Hello?" said Meg warily as she opened the door. "Can I help you?"

"Ah, yes, I believe you can," said the elderly gentleman in a cheerful, plummy voice; he even sounded like Gandalf, thought Meg.

"If I am not mistaken," he continued, "you are the guardian of two children for whom I have been searching quite some time—one of them for many years."

"You don't say," said Meg, narrowing her eyes and readying herself to slam the door in his face and ring the police.

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" the elderly lady snapped at 'Gandalf,' "Must you be so cryptic and mysterious every time, Albus? Can't you see you're making the poor woman nervous?"

"Please forgive my partner," she said, turning her attention back to Meg. "My name is Minerva McGonagall, and the batty old man who should know better is Albus Dumbledore. Both Miss Granger and Mr. Potter are the children of our deceased associates."

"Er…" Meg was taken aback, not sure what to say.

"Really?" she said skeptically, finding her voice again. "You actually know the kids, then?"

"Well, Miss Granger may recall meeting us several times when she was younger, or she might not," said Minerva McGonagall. "And Mr. Potter was far too young at the time to have any recollection of us. Mr. Potter was placed with his aunt and uncle for caregiving, but they shipped him off without so much as sending us a letter. … When we returned to check on his well-being several months later, they informed us of their actions and refused to tell us in whose hands they had placed him, saying that he was better off without us…"

"That… that's horrible!" said Meg uncertainly, still trying to wrap her head around all this and wondering how much of it was true.

"Indeed—" Mr. Dumbledore began, shutting up when Ms. McGonagall glared at him.

"We attempted to trace Mr. Potter of course," Ms. McGonagall continued, "Unfortunately the trail ran cold. … And as to Miss Granger, Albus and I have only recently just returned from the continent, where we have been otherwise occupied for the past year. We were absolutely horrified to discover that the Grangers had been lost to a housefire."

"It was most distressing," said Mr. Dumbledore quietly, a flicker of grief passing across his features, and this time Ms. McGonagall shot him a look of commiseration.

"Anyway," said Ms. McGonagall when Mr. Dumbledore's silence made it clear that he wasn't going to interrupt any further, "we managed to trace Miss Granger to the local child-services agency and there we, er… learned that you had taken her in—and, to our great surprise, Mr. Potter as well. That was quite unexpected, and I must say, quite serendipitous."

"Er… yes, I suppose it is," said Meg.

"In any case," said Ms. McGonagall, her voice taking on a pleading tone, "Albus and I would very much like to see the children and introduce ourselves. … It is very important that they be reacquainted with our world, so they can receive the education they need."

"Your… Your world?" Meg's eyes widened, and her jaw dropped. "You mean—?"

"Yes indeed, Miss Baxter," Mr. Dumbledore chimed in. "Minerva and I are Wizards."

"You're not gonna take the kids away from me, are you?" asked Meg, overtaken by a surge of panic. "Please—you can't—"

"Not at all, my dear," said Mr. Dumbledore in a soothing tone, "We wouldn't dream of it! The children clearly have a loving home here with you, which is the best that we could have hoped for under the circumstances. … Our only intent is to spend a few hours with them, perhaps three or four days a week, teaching them what they need to know to master their magic.

"Minerva and I are eminently qualified for the task, I can assure you—at one time we taught at Britain's most prestigious Wizarding secondary school. And I can unequivocally promise that we shan't interfere with your guardianship."

"Al-alright then," said Meg weakly, feeling a bit jittery but relieved. "Come on in then. Er… would you like some tea first? … I could really use a cuppa right about now—then I'll call in the kids."

"That would be delightful," Mr. Dumbledore beamed as he and Ms. McGonagall entered the children's new home.

* * *

 **The End** (for now)

 **AN:** _Well, that brings this particular short story to a close. Though, of course, the scene has been set for another installment in what shall be a series of short stories involving the characters. When I get to it, I'll post it here in sequence, rather than as a separate posting. If you have any questions just ask and I will give you as much as I can without being too spoilery._

In the meantime, I really ought to get cracking on my other ongoing stories _._ Lol! :D


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